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It was dark; a rubbery kind of smell lingering in the air that unpleasantly mixed with the smell of greasy food outside.
Sammy didn’t like the supply closet– he hated it.
His brother knew that. Sammy doesn’t think he would’ve been forced to go in otherwise.
Don’t be such a wuss, it’s just a room!
But Sammy had fought back. He didn’t usually, but he did this time.
Are you seriously crying? Right now? Why? There’s nothing there, you big baby.
Sammy had fought hard enough for his brother to get agitated and push him inside– forcibly so that Sammy lost his balance.
So that he scraped his hands and knees against the bare concrete flooring. So that it hurt.
He just laughed at the boy as his tears flowed, the kids passing them barely offering a glance or sympathy as they shuffled past, his brother sneering out mean words that dad said he didn’t mean as the door closed– and locked.
He didn’t even let Sammy have his best friend with him. Or at least the lights, the light switch was too far up; he couldn’t reach.
He was alone.
His knees felt raw and cold against the icy concrete, and in that moment, he wished it had been colder outside to warrant longer trousers. Rain would have been nice.
Maybe then he wouldn’t have scraped his knees as badly. Maybe there would’ve been less people outside; maybe his brother would’ve been less mean.
His knees ached, he shuffled around until it stopped tingling at least; until it became dull but manageable whisper against his broken skin rather than cold and piercing agitation.
It still made him consider that maybe… he shouldn’t have fought back.
Maybe Mike wouldn’t have pushed him so hard then.
Maybe his knees and the skin of his palms wouldn’t bleed then.
He’s such a jerk, the voice of his much nicer older sister echoed, Sammy found himself agreeing, though he would never dare to say it out loud–
You shouldn’t let him push you around like that dummy.
Yeah– nicer.
He would stop pushing you around if you stopped being a baby, you know.
She is nicer. She wouldn’t lock Sammy inside rooms like their brother had taken a liking to.
He pushed aside the ghostly memory of her shrill giggling from last week, when his hands had ached from pounding at the door too hard– until a picture on an adjoined wall had fallen to the floor.
Or the week before that when she had joined their brother in scaring him; at least she stopped when dad told her to– even if she had pretended to not know what he was talking about.
But Mike didn’t. He had stopped pretending a long time ago.
Sammy didn’t know what to do about that, he didn’t know what he was doing wrong; why no one seemed to like him.
Sammy’s eyes burned, he didn’t bother to wipe them, his voice hoarser than usual as he whispered out near silent “Hello”’s through the gap between the door and the floor,
shadows waltzing past periodically but none stopping. Not that he really expected them to.
His chest felt heavy, like it usually did, the cheerful laughter outside didn’t help but he tried not to let it bother him.
Everyone would have noticed if Liz had been missing; Mike too, it would've been too quiet.
But why don’t they notice him?
He sniffled and whispered another Hello?
The giggles of some girls answered him, and for a brief second Sammy hazarded to hope it was Charlie and her friends– maybe even Liz– coming to let him out, but the echoes of the girl’s footfalls simply padded past.
They didn’t stop, not even halt. Maybe they didn’t hear.
Maybe they didn’t care.
Sammy curled against the door, his cheek flat against the floor as he fought back the urge to nibble on his thumb (that’s what had gotten his brother to call him a baby in the first place), feeling a bit like a moth with a lightbulb as he stared at the golden streak of light.
Listening to the laughter, pretending to be out there with everyone else. Playing together.
He wondered what that would’ve been like.
He sniffled, and blinked away more tears, more than a few falling down in warm trails. Deep in thought and lost in self-pity, he didn’t notice when the periodical flicker in the gap stopped with the arrival of a much larger shadow.
Didn’t notice the lock clicking and turning over the sounds outside; over his own weeping.
But he did notice when the door opened, the golden glow lighting up the room.
Sammy blinked at the brightness and pushed himself up in an instant, but whatever hope that may have arisen, froze almost instantly with a mechanical whirr.
His eyes trailed up.
Sammy gasped at the spring green eyes and it’s lifeless stare, his fear catching somewhere in the back of his throat in an awful half-hiccup, backing away with such fervor that he lost his footing and landed on his backside; still he kept going, sliding against the bare concrete floor till the back of his head painfully hit the room’s lone chair.
He curled up against the pain, mostly in fear, hearing how the machine moved towards him, how the mechanical parts clicked against one another, coming closer and closer, Sammy’s heart rabbiting away and up his throat, eager to hide away under the shelves and boxes as the clanking of gears and wires– metal– came nearer.
It stopped in front of him, Sammy didn’t look, though he caught sight of the yellow toes between his arms.
It moved and Sammy flinched when a loud twin “ clack!” sounds came from the beast, and whimpered when it crouched nearer, its large form casting a dark bunny-eared shadow over him.
Sammy blinked, his vision clearing only briefly before a new fresh batch of warm tears flowed and blurred it again. He swallowed back his cries and willed himself silent; and wished he had his friends with him.
Or just Liz, she would’ve made fun of him but at least she would’ve let him hide behind her.
But she wasn’t, he was alone.
The door’s right there! Some childish part of him chimed, a far cry of the soothing drawl of his best friend, you just have to be brave, like Lizzy– or…– you have to be brave. You have to–
“Sammy.“ The boy’s tears stilled at the voice, and so did the sad mimicry inside his head that just didn’t compare; the sound soothing and calm as it usually was. “Look at me.”
He did; he stared.
“It’s me.”
He stared, and blinked, his tears leaking from the corners of his eyes and falling down his face in small plip! plip! plips, the yellow blur in front of him seeming much less terrifying then.
Stared until his breathing slowed and his heart began to settle back inside his chest, still frozen in place but not with fear (not anymore), his eyes slowly beginning to clear as he stared into the familiar molten silver that stared right back.
“It’s me, “ the voice repeated, and Sammy’s face scrunched up then. The boy sprung to his feet, the back of his head pulsing with ache as he stumbled into the warm embrace.
His dad swayed with the added weight but didn’t fall, Sammy didn’t fear he would; his dad was strong and brave, and he didn’t make fun of him even if Sammy wasn’t.
He buried his face into the yellow fabric and breathed in small hiccups, the fleece valiantly gathering his tears. He felt the bulky arms of the costume wrap around him, patting his back then drawing gentle circles when he cried louder.
“Careful, dear, ” his dad drawled but didn’t attempt to pry him off, “do you remember what I told you about the costumes?”
Sammy sniffled quietly in response and held on tighter.
His dad sighed, Sammy felt it in his hair, but didn’t let go, continuing to trail out slow circles in silence. Sammy listened to the slow breathing, the costume rattling quietly with them, the exhales tickling his ears.
Tomorrow’s another day, his mind whispered– or maybe it was his dad– but that didn’t really matter.
Everything is okay now.